


Ménage à Huit

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Audio: 063 - Caerdroia, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, Time War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is having a problem; the Master is happy to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ménage à Huit

**Author's Note:**

> Written Jan '10 // Based on BFA 63 Caerdroia, but set during the Time War (no spoilers for Caerdroia, very slight Gallifrey-shaped spoilers for EoT2). Some reference also to BFA 50 Zagreus, but knowledge of neither audio is necessary.

The Time Lords’ protective dome had shattered during a night-time raid. The light inside the citadel was now a subtly different colour, which was slightly unnerving, but not nearly as unnerving as being caught inside one of the War’s nasty time anomalies, which was now as likely to happen on Gallifrey as it was in the rest of the galaxy. Of course, any occurrences inside the citadel were hushed up. Official channels insisted that the dome had been largely ornamental, the real protective power lying in invisible force fields. It didn’t do, they reasoned, to spread panic amongst an already frightened populace, many of whom were only consoled by the thought that they, at least, were safe.

The Doctor, who had only dropped in briefly to pick up some equipment, was currently suffering from one of the time anomalies Rassilon had promised Gallifrey would not experience. Until time fixed itself (and, ideally, him), he had locked the door to his rooms and was in the process of gathering his thoughts when somebody knocked.

“I’m not at home right now,” the Doctor said firmly to whoever was outside. “Please leave a message, and I promise I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“A blatant falsehood, my dear,” said a voice from outside. “On numerous levels. Not up to your usual standards at all, I’m afraid.”

“The Master!” the Doctor said. “I’d recognise those dastardly inflections anywhere.”

“I should have known,” the Doctor said darkly. “Just as the situation seems to be at its lowest ebb, the Master appears. What can he want.”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter,” the Doctor said, “because he’s not coming in.”

 _“He’s not coming in?”_ the Doctor said, as if this was both the least comprehensible thing that had ever happened and the most upsetting.

“No, of course not,” the Doctor said.

“What do you mean, _of course not?_ I know _I_ want to see him,” the Doctor said. “We’re due to have words about his body-stealing aspirations.”

“I meant, _of course not,_ ” the Doctor said. “Nobody is coming in until we’ve sorted this out. Nobody. _Especially_ not the Master.”

“Doctor, are you… talking to yourself?” the Master enquired through the door.

“No,” the Doctor said.

“Yes,” the Doctor said. He stopped, momentarily confused. “Aren’t I? I thought I was.”

“Be _quiet_ ,” the Doctor hissed.

“No, why don’t you be quiet? Quite aside from the fact that your opinion is tedious, you’ve been outvoted,” the Doctor said and he opened the door.

“…Ah,” the Master said.

“Quite,” said the version of the Doctor who had been against letting the Master into his rooms.

Usually, this was the only sort of Doctor there was, but there were now three of him. Not even three different regenerations, which he found oddly comforting, like meeting a childhood enemy many years later; three versions of the same regeneration. One of him still remembered what a bad idea letting the Master in was, but the other two — the nasty one and the easily distracted one — clearly thought it was one of the best ideas he had ever had.

“A time anomaly, I take it,” the Master said, looking from one Doctor to the next.

Two out of three of the Doctors began the slow clap that indicated the Master’s statement was extremely redundant, but the other one beamed and said that yes, it was a time anomaly, which was weird, because last time it had occurred they’d been in a place where there _wasn’t any time at all._

“Yes, I’ve heard all about that,” the Master said. “A tragedy that I missed it. You must have been magnificent as Zagreus.”

“Oh, I was,” the terrible part of the Doctor said, with a smile the sane(r) part of him didn’t like at all.

“Magnificently mad,” he said before the Master got the wrong idea, or the right one. “Roaring, drooling, hallucinating cats in boxes… I didn’t know where or who I was half the time.”

“But the other half,” the Master said, ignoring him, turning a similar dangerous smile on the Doctor who had enjoyed being Zagreus.

“You would have knelt before me, _Master,_ ” that Doctor told him.

“Do you know…,” the third Doctor said to the Master, “I really like your waistcoat.” He had been staring at it throughout the conversation so far, and now began to play with one of the buttons, like a cat with a ball of string. “It looks a bit like mine, except yours is very… _black._ Like your hearts.” He began to laugh, and then said, “Not that your hearts _are_ black. They’re a sort of reddish purple, aren’t they? And I don’t think you’re that bad now. After all, you’re here, helping us with the War.”

“That’s right,” the Master said turning his smile on the Doctor fondling his chest. “I am.”

“Get away from him,” the reasonable Doctor said warningly.

Now, the Master looked at him, all false-innocence. “Doctor?”

“Hmm… I like your _beard,_ too…”

“I know what you’re thinking,” the Doctor said, trying to ignore the way he was now stroking the Master’s neck, “and it would be _taking advantage._ ”

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” the Master said with what was almost a pout.

“What would be taking advantage? ” the other Doctor said. “ _Oh._ ” He laughed with sudden understanding. “You mean, if we had _sex_. You think _that_ would be taking advantage.”

“He does,” the darker side of him said. “But he’s far too prim to say it aloud.”

“I don’t think that it _can_ be taking advantage, if I want to have sex with him…I mean, I’m practically throwing myself at him…”

“ _Prim_? I’m not prim-” the Doctor began, but broke off in exasperation as the nasty one pulled the Master away from his dreamier self and into a bruising kiss. “Oh, come _on_ ,” the reasonable Doctor exclaimed, as his other self shoved the Master back against the door, and the Master’s hands clenched around his buttocks. “I thought you wanted to destroy him for the body stealing thing!”

“You did say that,” the other Doctor agreed. “Well, it was more that you wanted a word-”

The darker one drew back, out of the kiss. “So I did.”

“ _Thank_ you-”

“Are you sorry, Master?”

“Extremely,” the Master said.

“Not going to do it again?”

“You seem to be making very good use of your body yourself,” the Master said.

“There,” the nastier Doctor said, ripping open the waistcoat his other self had so admired. “We talked. Now, Doctor, if you don’t mind, I’m going to fuck some obedience into him.”

“You’re certainly welcome to try,” the Master said, trying to help the Doctor un-button his shirt and being bitten for his efforts.

“I do mind!” the Doctor shouted, because he knew he shouldn’t have sex with the Master, who was a bad man who killed people for fun and wouldn’t call in the morning (but, rather, incessantly during the night while the Doctor was trying to sleep). Sometimes he was a wonderful man, but that didn’t make up for the rest of the time. If they had sex the Master might think the Doctor was justifying his killing people, or that he cared more about intelligence and charisma than he did about millions of lives, or that he was the kind of person who would have sex with anyone, and _none_ of these things were acceptable to the Doctor in his right mind. “In fact, I mind very much,” he said again, but nobody seemed to be listening.

“So, we are having sex?” the flighty Doctor asked the room at large.

“If you want to, my dear,” the Master said, drawing him into a kiss.

“Mmm,” that Doctor said, laughing into his lips, “you taste like watermelon.”

“This is a nightmare,” the other Doctor said, sinking into a one of his velvet-upholstered chairs. “This is _madness_ , and I refuse to have any part in it.”

“Suit yourself,” the nasty Doctor said nastily as he yanked the Master’s trousers down.

The part of the Doctor that thought of himself as sane and rational seized the top most book from the pile on his table and tried to interest himself in what turned out to be _The Physics of Traffic_. After three pages, he heard the squeaking sound of another of his tables being drawn across the floor, probably leaving deep scratches in the stonework. There seemed to be remarkably little in the way of conversation (the dreamy one must have his mouth engaged elsewhere), which was some small mercy, though it meant all there was to not-listen to was the unpleasant squelch and smack of the wet bits of bodies (some of them his own) against other bodies (probably also his own). Then the groaning and the creaking began, which was much worse and made the Doctor long for the return of the squelching.

He put down _The Physics of Traffic_ and determinedly not looking at whatever was going on on and around his table looked for something more gripping. He sorted through Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ , no, _Gothic Literature Uncovered_ , no, Evelyn’s autobiography, very inappropriate, he could never talk to her again, and eventually landed on _Fellowship of the Ring._

“This is wonderful!” he heard himself say, and looked up with a grimace to see himself both fucking and being fucked by the Master. The dreamy one, the one who had spoken, was lying on his back across some plans of the Dalek cruciform, his legs bent upwards so that his ankles rested on the Master’s shoulders. The other one had his arms wrapped around the Master’s torso, just under the legs of his other self. All three were completely naked. It was both ridiculous and… ridiculously arousing.

“Care to join us?” the Master asked, catching the Doctor in his look. “There’s always room for one more.”

“Certainly not,” the Doctor said, flushing red. As he returned hastily to his book, he heard the Master chuckle and murmur something to his other selves.

There was a pause in which the Doctor concentrated very hard on Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party, and then the Master’s hand took hold of the book and removed it, and the Master himself slipped onto the Doctor’s lap.

“I thought I’d make a personal appeal.”

“You’re wasting your time,” the Doctor said, looking over the Master’s naked shoulder in the direction his other selves weren’t. “You sicken me, now please go away.”

“A blatant falsehood, my dear,” the Master murmured. “Not up to your usual standards at all.”

“I mean it,” the Doctor said, smacking the Master’s hands away from his cravat. He gave the man a hard stare, definitely not looking down at the erection pressed into his stomach. “I can’t believe you, even you, would do this to me. I’m _obviously_ not in my right mind. Would you have sex with me while I was high on drugs, or while I’d lost my memory?”

“Not out of preference…”

“You mean you would.”

“My dear _Doctor_ -”

“Or is it that you have already? This regeneration has been especially prone to amnesia. You probably shagged me in an alley somewhere on my first day in this body-”

“No, I didn’t. Now, if I could explain-“ the Master broke off. “Hmm. Now, that is odd.”

“What?” the Doctor snapped.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” the Master explained slowly, “but a number of clothing items you were previously wearing, I would guess approximately two-thirds, have just vanished.” He turned around and sighed. “Yes, as I feared, that particular anomaly is over.”

“Well, now that the versions of me willing to have sex with you are gone, you can leave,” the Doctor said, standing and dumping the Master off his lap into a gratifyingly undignified heap.

“ _Doctor,_ ” the Master said.

“Oh, don’t _Doctor_ me, Master,” the Doctor said, picking up the Master’s beautiful black waistcoat and throwing it at him. “Just take your clothes and get out.”

He turned away and tried to ignore the fact that he was no longer wearing any trousers. As he had half expected and two-thirds hoped, he soon heard the Master come up behind him and then felt the Master’s hands on his shoulders in a gentle caress that slid down his arms. “My dear, dear Doctor,” he said. “I am sorry.”

“Are you really? What about?”

“About everything,” the Master said, “except agreeing to have sex with you just now. What can I say? I jumped at the chance. And I would do so again, if you asked… or demanded, or entreated.”

The Doctor stepped away from him and turned. “This has been one of the most humiliating experiences of my entire lives.” The Master raised his eyebrow, and the Doctor glared. “Master, is that an incredulous eyebrow?”

“No,” the Master said, lowering it, “of course not. Let me apologise. How can I make it up to you?” He held up a hand. “Please don’t ask me to leave. If nothing else it lacks originality.”

The Doctor held his gaze for a moment longer, and then nodded. “All right, I won’t.” The Master raised an eyebrow again, but this time it was more inquisitory, and the Doctor indicated the way back into his bedroom. “Follow me.” This was probably a bad idea too, he thought as he led the way, but the other parts of his psyche were back in their rightful places, and he knew he wanted it more than he didn’t. The Master hadn’t killed anyone at all since he’d been resurrected. It was entirely possible that he had turned over a new leaf, and who was the Doctor to withhold his trust?

“Bed,” he said to the Master.

“Very good, Doctor,” the Master said with a smirk. “Now how many other items of furniture can you name?”

“Don’t push your luck,” the Doctor told him. “Just get onto the bed.” He pulled his dressing gown’s cord from its loops and returned. “Now, I’m going to tie you to the headboard.”

The Master’s smirk turned to a look of surprise, “Shouldn’t this be the other way around?” but he raised his arms anyway, only grimacing slightly as the cord tightened around his wrists and one of the wooden slats that made up the Doctor’s headboard. “I don’t like to complain, but do you need to tie me so tightly? I would have left room for your blood to continue circulating.”

“Wait here,” the Doctor said, and left the room, followed by the Master’s slightly frantic calls. The Master need not have worried however, as the Doctor simply collected the lubricant he knew must have been abandoned by the table, inspected his floor for signs of damage (there didn’t seem to be any, which made him feel more favourably towards the Master) and returned.

“Ah, good,” the Master said, “I thought-”

“You shouldn’t speak, Master, unless you’re spoken to,” the Doctor said. He removed the rest of his clothes (waistcoat, shirt, and question-mark underpants) and climbed onto the bed, over the Master. “It’s a very bad habit. Mm,” he kissed the Master’s mouth gently and drew away, “of both of ours.”

“Did that count as being spoken to?” the Master asked.

“Yes, it did,” the Doctor said. He moved downwards, laying kisses along the Master’s neck. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at sexual domination usually, but you’re surprisingly obedient.”

“Not out of preference,” the Master said, and the Doctor could feel the words thrum in his vocal chords, “but it seems to be getting results.”

“Is that a clever analogy?”

“Merely an explanation,” the Master said, tensing as the Doctor bit his right nipple. “Incidentally, though it hardly matters, you must know that there would have been no time for me to accost you in San Francisco and I was dead until last week.”

The Doctor chuckled quietly. “Yes, I was getting a bit hysterical at that point, wasn’t I?” He raked his fingers down the Master’s chest through the dark hair that grew there. “Justifiably, though, I think.”

“Only one part of you was, my dear. The other parts were enjoying themselves enormously, believe me.”

“Well, then, perhaps you should have stayed with them.”

“My dear Doctor, you _are_ them.”

“I am now,” the Doctor agreed, stroking the Master’s hip, down his thigh, and then up the inside of the same leg, “but I wasn’t when you abandoned the most disturbing threesome I’ve ever been witness to, not that I’ve seen a great deal, mind you, in order to harass me.”

“The pleasure of the capture pales before the pleasure of the pursuit, Doctor.”

“I see.”

“And, of course, as obliging and flexible as you were, I must admit it distressed me that I didn’t have all of you. That the reasonable part of you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Fortunately, your second answer was significantly better than your first,” the Doctor said. He moved back up the Master’s body and, collecting the open tin of lubricant, scooped some of it out onto his fingers. “I was afraid I was going to have to release you on principal.”

“I suspect I would have insisted on staying,” the Master said, watching with lidded eyes as the Doctor pushed a slick finger into his own body. It was less difficult than the Doctor might have expected, but, now it came to it, his brain provided a memory of the Master opening him carefully with the fingers of one hand, while giving him fingers from the other to suck. His other self, he now also remembered, had not been nearly so gentle — he had shoved three lubricated fingers into the Master to ensure he didn’t hurt himself, fucked him with those briefly, before taking him properly. And the Master had been quite correct: both Doctors had enjoyed the experience.

“I, ah… may owe you an apology,” he said, as he lowered himself down onto the Master’s cock, squirming until it slid in fully. “About earlier.”

“You’re forgiven,” the Master assured him, “for whenever you like.” The Doctor grinned and began to rock the Master in and out of himself, slowly at first and then harder and faster, as the Master pushed up into him. After a while, he was forced to take one of the steadying hands away from the Master’s shoulders and wrap it around his own erection. He let his head fall back (the Master had seen him look far less respectable today already) and, as he panted and strained, he felt the Master’s hand close around his cock.

“Please, allow me,” the Master’s voice said, and the Doctor obediently let go of himself and let the other man stroke him to climax. The Master continued to thrust upwards, causing the Doctor to whimper slightly, until he felt the Master spill into him and, a moment later, the Master’s hand stroking his back.

“I was under the impression I’d tied you fairly securely,” he said as he pulled himself off the Master and slid onto the mattress.

“And so you did,” the Master agreed. He stretched his right arm up, and twanged the slat he had been tied to with two fingers, like a guitar string. It clattered back into place with the sound like maracas, and the Master finished, “To the one slat with a large gap at the bottom.”

“What shoddy workmanship,” the Doctor said, his voice full of amazement. “I knew I shouldn’t have bought my furniture from Drax. Ten thousand years he said this would last. It hasn’t lasted two.”

“An accident, then.”

“I told you I wasn’t very good at the whole domination thing,” the Doctor said, “bear that in mind: I’d be a useless co-ruler of the galaxy,” and he leant up on the Master’s chest to kiss him on the lips.

“You should be going,” the Master said when the Doctor drew away.

“No, I think you’ll find these are _my_ rooms.”

“Precisely my point.” The Master arranged his arms behind his head to form a pillow. “Our great lord Rassilon has dispatched a number of people to look for you. Something about your irresponsible actions on Epilison Erani. I was assigned to check your rooms, but presumably it will soon occur to somebody else to look here, after all they are, as you say, your rooms, and I am notoriously unreliable.”

“ _Why,_ ” the Doctor said, now off the bed and in the process of trying to locate as many of his clothes as possible, “didn’t you say any of this before?”

The Master chuckled and held up his hands in protest. “You never gave me a chance. I had planned to warn you, but then you started insisting we have sex. And it was good sex, Doctor. You can’t deny it.”

“That’s not the point and you know it,” the Doctor said. By now he was re-dressed in shirt, waistcoat and underpants — the rest of his clothes were presumably in the main room. He grabbed the Master’s wrist and pulled him firmly off the bed. “And don’t imagine I’m leaving you here to root through my possessions. Get up.”

The Doctor found his trousers thrown over a chair, his cravat and his cufflinks on the table, his coat on the floor by the door and his shoes under the coat. The Master meanwhile had found and pulled on his own trousers, and the Doctor hurriedly rescued his shirt from a Venus fly trap, which had apparently been nibbling on it during their ‘encounter’. He opened the door and pushed the shirt at the Master.

“I’ll call you,” the Master promised as he was shoved outside, half-naked and grinning broadly.

“Please don’t,” the Doctor said, but he, too, was smiling as he slammed the door shut and raced for the relative safety of his TARDIS.


End file.
